Freshly Fallen
by deinvati
Summary: Eames has a fondness for fresh snow. Arthur has a fondness for Eames. Tooth-rottingly sweet Christmas fluff.


Arthur felt a swirl of cold air snake its way around his ankles and he frowned. He read the last sentence once more time before closing the laptop reluctantly and going to investigate. His stockinged feet padded silently along the wooden floor, down the hall and toward the kitchen, but paused when he saw the front door standing open.

Eames was leaned against the doorway, steaming mug of tea in his hand, facing out against the night. He stood still and relaxed, his thick sweatered bulk keeping most of the wind out.

Arthur cocked his head, but Eames hadn't noticed him, eyes on the snow tumbling down. One of his feet was crossed in front of the other, and Eames brought his mug of tea to his lips, blowing lightly across the surface. The gesture was so familiar it tugged Arthur forward.

The lights from the Christmas tree in the front window cast a colorful glow across his shoulders and spilled through the glass into the night. The front porch light was off, just the moon and the rainbow of lights across the decking. The snow had started to build up, the wind whipping drifts against the house and across the field. It would be a long morning of shovelling tomorrow, Arthur wagered.

He sidled up behind his lover, careful not to jostle the tea. Arthur hooked his fingers in Eames's belt loops and rested his chin on Eames's shoulder.

"You're letting all the warm air out," he said, but his voice didn't have any bite in it.

"Mmm," Eames hummed in agreement. "Just watching the snow."

Arthur watched for a moment too, the still hush that fell over the darkness, the soft blanket concealing all beneath it. It sparkled, crystalline in the moonlight, the pristine perfection stretched out before them.

Then Arthur stopped watching the snow and watched Eames watching the snow. He was quiet. Eames was never quiet, he was a ball of energy from morning to night, and now he seemed very far away. Arthur pressed his nose into the warm knit at his shoulder and breathed, Eames's scent filling up his head, his heart, his life.

Arthur could practically hear Eames's brain whirring, so he opened his mouth and bit down on Eames's shoulder.

"Oi!" Eames yelped in surprise. "Watch it, now!"

Arthur grinned at him, all dimples and mischief. He backed up, pulling Eames by the belt loops and kicking the door closed. He coerced Eames down the hall, easing the mug out of his hands and discarding it on the hall table. Eames tilted his head, an eyebrow raised, but instead of pulling him toward the bedroom like he expected, Arthur tugged him toward the closet. He retrieved boots, hats, gloves and coats, passing them all to Eames, who accepted them with a small smile and started pulling them on.

Arthur suppressed his grin, just dressed in the warm clothes and lead the way outside.

The flakes were still falling, the shoulders of his coat quickly dusted and Arthur stared up for a moment, the sky streaked with the fat, wet, snow. He looked at Eames, who had snowflakes on his beanie and melting in the scruff he'd refused to shave, because, "Darling! I'm on holiday!"

Arthur tilted his chin in invitation and trekked his way across the yard. As he entered the field stretched out in front of them, white and unbroken, Arthur realized he was alone.

"Eames?" Arthur checked behind him to find Eames standing at the edge of the field, hands in his pockets and his shoulders hunched. "What's wrong?"

Eames looked sheepish. "I don't want to mess it up," he admitted. Arthur looked down at his tracks, making stark, black holes in the winter expanse. He turned, careful to place his feet in the same places and made his way back to Eames.

Arthur stopped in front of this ridiculous, warm, gorgeous man and kissed him. Their noses, both cold in the wind, slid in perfect counterpoint to the heat of their mouths as Arthur kissed him breathless until they had to break apart, panting.

"Come back inside then, I'll let you mess me up," Arthur grinned at him.

Eames huffed a laugh, and let his head fall forward to rest on Arthur's. "Happy Christmas, darling," Eames husked.


End file.
